It was the light that held
a suspended note
an echo from one range to another
in between universes
like the pitch between sleep and falling in space
steep with a cushion
how one imagines weightlessness

the echo was melodic
first a chord that hearkened sounds of apple orchards being picked
and baskets being hauled
and heaved to the back of a truck
whose start up sounded like a drum
keeping everyone aware they were leaving

after the orchard was culled
after the last was chosen off the branch
after the gate swung tight on its metal hinge
a cymbal ending the stanza
leaving the orchard to the sound of branches
calling for their blossoms
a celebration and a death
in sunlit dust

a solo flute’s call
like a bridge between two caverns in a mist
from one world into the next
undulated gently
anchored at each end
by faith alone
an etheric station of tenderness
where weeping and dancing
delighted deity
where sweat was the taste
of his seed
and steady the hollow
of his call